Warnings: Not really any. Language?

Self-indulgent Author's Note will be left until the end.

…..

The early 1990s

Jennifer sat in her office, enjoying the view of the sunset outside as it threw shades of peach, pink and purple across the skyscrapers of Gotham.

She spied the clock sitting at the right end of her desk. She should be heading home, but she had a few more things to tend to before the day was out.

There was a knock at the door.

She was pretty sure who it was. "Come on in Sam."

Her assistant stepped in. "Hey Jennifer, do you need anything else before I step out?"

She smiled and shook her head. "No I'm fine. You head on home to that lasagna you've been dreaming about all day."

"Definitely. See you tomorrow."

By the time she finally called it quits, her office was mostly dark, except for the light cast by the desk lamp to her left. She switched it off; there was enough ambient light from outside that she could see and pack up her things easily. As she was doing so, she heard a rustling noise behind her.

She stopped, turned around.

"Well hi there, baby brother."

He was standing in the farthest, darkest corner of the room, in his tactical gear and other clothing meant to protect him, make him seem menacing. Make him remind one of a…bat. Of all damn things.

He didn't respond right away.

Jennifer sighed. "I always knew this day would come," she admitted, as she continued to pack up her things.

"You know what I want," he stated finally.

She turned around, setting her purse and briefcase down on her desk. "Tell me. Did it really take this long to figure it out?"

He was still young then. Cocky. Talkative. Insecure.

"There had been rumors of a girl for sometime."

She laughed. "Heh, 'Girl,'" she repeated, scoffing, before running her hand over her face as she looked away.

"I'm old enough to be your mother, boy," Jennifer shot back.

He said nothing to that.

She sighed, dropped her shoulders. "Can you get on with it so I can go home?"

"You have things I need. Information."

"And what would all that be exactly." She was starting to feel like this encounter was going to take more than a moment or two of her time. She turned back to the credenza behind her desk and grabbed the cut-glass decanter filled with her favorite scotch. She uncorked the glass stopper, before pouring herself a drink.

Jennifer's eyes wandered to the stack of vinyl sitting to the right, beside a record player. Perhaps to show some disdain for even having to have this conversation, she stepped over and started flipping through the albums. The Ramones, Fleetwood Mac, Michael Jackson, The Police…. Along with some he had actually been the first to introduce her to: Oingo Boingo, Ministry, Tears for Fears, The Smithereens, The Church, Billy Idol, The Smiths.

She flipped to one in particular. Night Time, by the Killing Joke. Written in green Sharpie on the front: "From You-Know-Who." Followed by a smiley face. "I love you."

They were all treasured possessions. Welcomed gifts.

She could recall one night, early on, when he came home, grinning like the Cheshire Cat through the painted smile, and presented her with a diamond bib necklace that easily was worth more than she had made in her whole lifetime.

She stared at it for a moment, before grabbing it and throwing it so hard against the far wall, that it shattered into a million pieces.

He quickly got the hint.

"You have the file." Bruce's words broke through her memories.

Jennifer turned back to him. "The what now."

"Don't play dumb. The file Arthur Fleck stole from Arkham State Hospital in 1981. You have it."

"Why would you think that?"

"Why wouldn't you have it?"

"Why would anyone still have it?"

He stepped a little closer. Just a bit.

"There was a woman calling the Gotham Gazette about a week after it was stolen, with information that would only be in that file. From an insurance company, supposedly."

She looked down, then up. "And?"

Just the faintest smile formed on his lips. "Jennifer Louise Cullen, or occasionally Louise Stewart. Previously lived at 2250 Anderson Avenue, Apartment H8, Gotham City. A few doors down from Arthur Fleck."

"So?" she broke in after taking a sip of scotch.

"You were frequently seen with him. Supposedly a couple. Supposedly going to run off and get married, before…the riots broke out."

A smile broke out on her face, before she started to laugh.

"What's so funny?"

Jennifer nodded. "I thought so."

Some confusion showed through the cracks of composure.

"My friend, at the clerk's office," she started to explain. "He was found dead a couple of weeks after…everything. Had a bad heart, but I knew. I knew. The way he was found…."

Silence.

"He was the only one I ever said that to. About eloping."

More silence.

"I suppose it's the birth certificate that you're really after. I mean, the file just sort of supports everything your Daddy claimed was true, right?"

He stepped an inch closer. She could make out his features a bit more–what she could see, through the literal and metaphorical masks. There was a bit of resemblance there…. She knew from so many, though not every, night, falling asleep to his brother's face.

"I suppose it was just a coincidence that within a year and a half of your…liaison with him, your boss mysteriously disappeared?"

She froze. "I had nothing to do with that."

"But he had it done for you, didn't he?"

She had no answer to that.

He shrugged, let his eyes travel the room. "You seemed to benefit nicely by it as well."

Jennifer set her jaw. Pursed her lips as she shook her head. So much had happened that she couldn't fully put a finger on, even while Arthur was still locked away in Arkham. Harold. Stanford. Men in nondescript suits and no names who snooped around their old apartment building for months. Probably were the ones to break into her apartment that one time she came home to a freshly broken door lock, a scared-as-shit Paulie hiding under her bed, and her rifled-through belongings, but nothing stolen. Who she figured out were watching and following her and Sophie and a few others in the building. Arthur's apartment which stayed empty for more than a year while other units switched out tenants first.

Whatever leviathan with the Wayne name on it that controlled so much of Gotham was flailing about wildly in the wake of its head being cut off. Even her company was teetering on the brink at one point. Many people quit, seeking steadier places of employ, and officially Stanford had suddenly and inexplicably been one of them, but there had been rumors that a mysterious gas leak in his home had lead to his untimely demise. She couldn't really find out much about it, but she hadn't tried really hard to find out more, either.

"You could…benefit this city greatly, if you handed over what you have."

Jennifer gave him an incredulous look. "Excuse me while I laugh at that." She took another drink.

"Is it easy? Loving someone when you know what they've done? The blood on their hands? When does that blood transfer to yours?"

She huffed. "This about someone who's probably done more real good for this city than the Waynes ever did."

"If you're referring to his Robin Hood act, perhaps you're as delusional as your own health records indicate, Ms. Cullen."

She narrowed her eyes at him.

Jennifer straightened her shoulders as she set her drink down on the desk. "Do you want to know the truth? The full, honest, clear truth? There is a needless war raging on right now, ravaging this godforsaken city and claiming lives because two brothers can't stop swingin' their goddamn dicks around at each other. Can't get over their daddy issues, so they play them out for the rest of us to deal with." She let out an exasperated sigh. Picked up her glass and held it aloft. "But hey, your antics are good for my business."

He mulled over her words. "Were it better if I went against everything I stood for, and…ended it, once and for all?

Another sip. Her eyebrows perked up. "For me or for Gotham?"

He said nothing. For a moment, she honestly wondered if he was seeking her permission.

She sighed. "I'm not sure one of you can exist without the other," Jennifer said, to herself as much as to him.

"Finishing this doesn't have to mean finishing the man himself. You could…assist me in seeing that he's restrained for good."

She laughed coldly. The way he made that sound…. God, so much of what made Bruce what he was was precisely what led to all this bullshit in the first place. What had made Arthur what he was.

Besides, she had figured out long ago that what he proposed would never work. Well, really, Arthur had.

She could remember so vividly the night he had escaped. A year and seven months after she last held his hand. So much political bullshit at the federal and state level meant that Arkham State Hospital was about to experience severe cuts in funding, and he and others were going to be transferred into a special wing of Blackgate Prison exclusively for the criminally insane, supposedly.

She was so terrified for him.

Jennifer had only visited him twice while he was in Arkham. Gave a fake name both times. It was distressing to see him so out of it like he was. For his sake, but also partly because she could still remember what that felt like.

He'd begged her to stay away. She wasn't entirely sure if it was out of a feeling of protectiveness or shame. Maybe both.

The second time, when she mentioned the break in to her apartment, and the other unusual, unnerving goings-on…that seemed to get his attention. Clear some of the fog. To spark something.

She'd find out later he was in touch with people while inside. The "followers." They saw his transfer as their chance, and they took it.

Jennifer left early that day when she heard the news. She was glued to the TV the whole night, but so little concrete information came out of it.

She just wanted to know he was safe.

When she heard a knocking on her window, the one with the fire escape outside, she didn't dare to hope. It could be something horrible. Dangerous. But it wasn't.

Her heart about damn near stopped when she saw his face.

Stopped again when they kissed for the first time in an eternity. Pulled each other close and didn't let go.

Later, as she lay in bed close to him, thinking he was asleep, his hand reached up and started to stroke her hair.

"I tried, you know," he spoke up in that gentle, scratchy voice. "For your sake. Our sake. Even mine. One last chance. I behaved while there, stayed out of trouble. Did as I was told. There…was this doctor. Leslie Thompkins. She knew her shit. And she was actually kind. The first person besides you who gave a damn." He ran a hand over his face. "It helped. Someone was helping. Finally. Then with the cuts she had to leave, find a job elsewhere. They tried to saddle me with some other…clown, but he was so pointless. The whole thing was so pointless. Is so pointless." That coupled with what Jennifer had told him had been impetus enough for him; he'd had enough.

There would be no Arkham again. He'd promised that.

"I can't help you," Jennifer told his brother. She finished her drink and turned back to her credenza. She mulled over whether to pour a fresh one or simply clean the glass and place it back amongst the others.

She heard his voice behind her, closer this time: "Maybe you should try, regardless. Everything comes to light eventually."

By the time she turned around to question those cryptic words, he had already retreated to the shadows. A piece of paper sat on her desk that wasn't there before. Embossed, official, with the county seal of the place she was born, but it was a marriage license. Bearing her name and signature. And the name and signature of a Jack Napier.

She couldn't help but let out a short laugh. "I told him that name was too on the nose."

She looked up and eyed him. "How long did it take your people to find that?"

A pause as he drew his head back. "Look beneath it."

Her brow wrinkled. She looked down and slid the marriage certificate away. There was a birth certificate beneath it, for a Bernadette Cullen. That had been her grandmother's name, but it was someone else's name now.

Jennifer looked up at him slowly. Fear and rage simultaneously rising in her at realizing what card he was trying to play.

She wanted to kill him.

"I wondered why soon after breaking out and his return as Joker, he suddenly disappeared for several months–"

She stormed up to him, steadying herself on the way. She conveyed how she felt through her eyes, as they bore directly into his. When she was just a foot away from him, she spoke in a low, dangerous whisper: "Don't."

Neither of them said anything for a moment. Jennifer drew back. Eyed him up and down. "I'll never help you. Ever. And if you ever do anything toward her–anything–I will make sure he kills you." She shrugged. "Or I might just do it myself."

….

The bell dinged for her floor right before the doors slid open smoothly. This building had been his idea. She protested at the thought of moving from their old building–it was a shit hole, but it was their shit hole, where they had met and fallen in love, but he had a point when he said it wasn't safe anymore.

The Art Deco jewel they lived near the top of now once housed some of Gotham's most notable mobsters and bootleggers during the Prohibition Era. Behind its wood-paneled walls were still the hidden passageways and rooms and stairwells that made their business easier to conduct. That now made it easier for Arthur to come and go without being detected.

Jennifer punched her security code into the panel beside her door before slipping in her key.

Once inside, she dropped her things onto the table to her right with a thud. Let out a sigh as she kicked off her heels. It had been a long day.

"Mrrow?"

She looked down to see Frank Sinatra staring expectantly up at her.

"I suppose you want to be fed, huh?"

In answer, the feline wound his way around her stocking-clad legs and started to purr. Some things never changed.

The morning after Arthur came home to Jennifer, she awoke to find Paulie curled up on his chest again. A habit that would continue until the cat's death of old age a little less than a decade later. Arthur was accepted again, but whenever Joker was around, Paulie still kept his distance. She wasn't sure if something about Joker's look just spooked the animal, or it was something more. She didn't think too deeply on it.

"Don't listen to him. He's been fed already."

The voice was a little rougher, probably from an additional ten years or so of smoking, but it was also still soft, gentle.

She turned around to see Arthur, hands in his pockets, leaning against the nearest doorway. Slacks, button down, sweater; his fashion sense hadn't changed much when he was Arthur. It hadn't changed much for the other guy, either.

His features were a bit more lined. His face and frame a bit fuller, from age as much as her cooking. Some gray hair around the temples…from what she could tell through the frequent twinge of green.

"Hi," she smiled a smile reflecting so many emotions, but mostly relief, happiness. Love.

He stepped up to her. "Hi yourself." They fell easily, comfortably into a hug. He turned and kissed her temple. Jennifer felt herself melt for the millionth and far from the last time.

"Ma! You're home!"

Bernadette. Sweet little Bernie. Who took so much after her father except for her eyes–a soft blue some people mistook for gray. Arthur would tell Jennifer and Bernie that that was a sure sign their daughter had her mother's sweet soul in her.

She wasn't exactly planned…. With Arthur gone that year and a half, concerning herself with birth control seemed pointless to Jennifer, and it had been totally forgotten his first night back. But when Jennifer found out and told Arthur, they both vowed that she never be made to feel like she was a mistake or unwanted.

To the great relief of them both, the mental storm clouds that took up permanent residence in their heads didn't seem to have been passed down to her.

With a big smile, she ran up and hugged the both of them. Jennifer combed her fingers through her dark, curly hair. "How was your day Sweetheart?"

"I got another A–see the proof's right here–"

Jennifer took the stapled papers held up to her and scanned the first page. Of course it was in math. How this child seemed to shine in the subject when neither of them had any real interest or aptitude in it (unless it was counting money), neither one of them could figure out.

Looking down at her, Jennifer's...run in with the girl's uncle suddenly came unbidden back into her conscious thoughts, and she frowned.

"Did…did I do something wrong?"

Jennifer shook her head. "No. Not at all Bernie." She handed the papers back as she put on a smile. "Why don't you go post that on the fridge with the others, hmm?"

"Sure!" Bernadette ran off for the kitchen.

"Is something wrong?" Arthur whispered into Jennifer's ear. The arm around her midsection tightened.

She looked at him. She debated with how to answer that question, even just to herself.

She should probably tell him who visited her tonight. What it could possibly mean. What she was thinking….

The strain of the relationship had taken its toll at times. He wasn't always there when he was needed. When Paulie died, for instance, though that ultimately seemed to upset him more than it had her. There was always a high chance when she came home…he wouldn't. But she knew she was too far gone from the moment he gave her that look in the donut shop, years ago. Arguably, even earlier. It was a connection that would always be there, even if she had long ago left him. That would always make her a target. It seemed safer to be under his protection rather than trying to stay away. Besides, she had been able to carry on her life here in Gotham. Now had a beautiful daughter he'd given her. Everything else could be pushed away, forgotten. She was good at that.

Maybe she'd tell him, maybe not. But at the very least, it could wait for another night.

They fell into another embrace. He touched his lips to her forehead and she sighed.

She drew back a bit and they locked eyes.

"No. Never with you."
…..

Author's Note: So I wanted to say thank you to everyone who's given this story love over the last few months. I never dreamt my being peeved at Arthur not having a cat in the movie would turn into me writing a book basically. lol I wanted to thank especially Vanta and Denise on here, who've followed this story so closely and been so supportive. Writing this has helped give me some great practice as well as a lot of needed confidence about my writing in general; I'm now working on an original novel idea that I'm really excited about.

Writing this also helped me deal with some personal stuff as well. Besides my own struggles with mental illness, I…dated and was (and I guess am) in love with a guy with clinical depression. We had these great first few months that were abruptly cut short when he had a bad episode and pushed me away a lot. I stuck by him, tried to make it work. We were together for almost three years but I realized I just couldn't help him. I guess I wanted to write something about that idea: how love doesn't or can't always save.

We're still friends, though. Joke around a lot. Argue occasionally. We actually saw Joker together and both loved it. Anyway, I guess my feelings, whatever they would be categorized as at this point, towards him are part of why I came to love Arthur so much. Maybe it ruins the realism or message of the story a bit, but I wanted to give Arthur and Jennifer a happy ending (of sorts?). Reality sucks; that's why we have stories, fandom, fan fic. To give us something better.

Thanks again, particularly if you actually read all that. lol

–Bailey